Aftermath
by Graveygraves
Summary: Haley is dead. How do you deal with the fallout from such a tradegy? Multi-chapter, multi-character story, set between 100 and Slave of Duty. Post-ep following the character reflections on the events.
1. Strauss

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **This is one I have waited a long time to find the right words for; it has literally taken me two years to write this. Chapter orders have changed, edited and altered.**

 **I started watching CM during season 5 and then backtracked. I am not one to be brought to tears by a TV show, but this ep did it and still does to this day. There will be one chapter for each character.**

 **This story is based somewhere between 100 and The Slave of Duty, not necessarily the same day for each character. However it is all prior to the funeral.**

 **I dedicate this story to everyone who has been lucky enough to find their true love but had the misfortune to have lost them, may you be reunited again one day.**

 **This chapter is focused on Strauss. I haven't written much with Strauss but have enjoyed attempting her point of view in both the more traditional view of her and as she was later portrayed. Obviously for this the 'Bitch' is back, but I like to think that the softer side was always there hidden underneath. Call me an old softy. I realise this might not be where you expected me to start but . . .**

 **. . .**

Tears are the silent language of grief.

 **Voltaire** **, writer**

. . .

Erin sat alone in the darkness of her immaculate office. The only light radiated out from her desk lamp. Under the bright stream was an open file. The contents now a blur as Erin failed to focus. On this occasion not due to the clear contents of the crystal tumbler in her hands. On this occasion it was the solitary tear that trickled from each eye that was causing the disturbance in her vision. She had stumbled as she had read from the medical report this afternoon and still its words beat her.

Even the frozen ice queen of the FBI couldn't fail to be moved by the contents of the reports that had been submitted following 'the incident'. Add to that the heartfelt responses she had heard first hand from each team member throughout the investigation hearing and . . . well she had been blown away.

Deep down she knew she should be over the moon. Finally she had all she needed to bury Aaron Hotchner once and for all. This was what she had worked towards for a long time. But there was no satisfaction in this ending. No-one could feel happy with such a devastating outcome – no matter how much she had wanted rid of that man. Aaron Hotchner had clearly believed his whole family were at risk and had done what was necessary to protect his son. She couldn't argue with that. She only wished there had been better words to express her sorrow at what had happened. _'I'm sorry for your loss,'_ seemed so inadequate.

After all she was a mother herself. She would give everything to save her children. However many would not believe it with all that her family had sacrificed for her career. But she would, she would die for them. Sighing deeply she wondered if she could have been as composed as Haley Hotchner. The reports all speak of her courage. The recording of the final conversation she had with Aaron spoke volumes for her bravery.

Shuffling the papers before taking another sip of the neat vodka, Erin couldn't help but wonder if she would be capable of the same level of dignity as Haley Hotchner. Erin paused as the selection of scene of crime photos fell once more from the folder. Horror was evident on her face as she tried to image what it must have been like for those members of the BAU as they arrived on scene. Let alone what Aaron went though.

Swallowing the contents of the glass Erin pushed herself out of her seat, heading towards the cupboard to refill her glass. Making it a large one, she made a mental note to ring for a cab to get home. There were nights like this, when it all got too much and she just needed to numb her mind to what the world had become. She had even been known to stay the night so as not to take this all home to her family, but not tonight.

Tonight she needed her family. She needed to see and feel them, to be with them. She needed an opportunity to appreciate all that she had. If there was one thing the past few days had taught her was that you never knew when it may all be ripped away from you. Making an additional mental note to have a full security review for her family and home organised tomorrow, Erin leant against the window.

Staring out in to the dark night, the darkness reflecting the sombre mood that had settled across the BAU since the incident, Erin sighed deeply consuming more of the crystal clear liquid. It burned her throat, and she knew she should stop. But there were some nights, not all, but some when this was the only comfort she had. It defended her from the world she worked in.

On this occasion it had all been too close for comfort, far too close. It was one thing to sign off reports about faceless victims who names she would never remember, but seeing images of Haley had nearly beaten her. Erin prided herself on her composure, her ability to remain unfazed like her male colleagues. She had to prove she was as strong as them, if not stronger. This could not break her – not after all she had gone through to get here.

In one swift movement she swallowed the remaining liquid, made a quick call and gathered up her things. It was time to go home, to distance herself from all of this.

. . .

Opening the door, Erin slipped quietly inside. She left her bags and shoes by the door and headed towards the kitchen, where she knew she would find her husband. She could already smell the wondrous meal he was cooking up for them. He had always been far more domesticated then she was.

Stepping silently into the brightly lit room her eyes instantly rested on the open bottle of red. Instinctively she reached for a glass and poured herself one.

"I thought you might be in need," Robert acknowledged as she took the first sip. "Still facing a rough ride?"

Erin nodded solemnly, issues resurfacing in her mind. Her husband moved round the counter and hugged her from behind, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. I'm so glad you are out of the field and safe in that office of yours."

Erin snorted mildly, as her eyes shut and she leant back into his arms. "Are the kids in bed?" she finally asked.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled into her hair.

"I think I'll go up and see them," Erin pulled herself out of her husband's arms and left him cooking their meal.

She tiptoed up the lavishly carpeted stairs, reaching the first of the rooms. Cracking the door open she peeped in, her eldest daughter slumbered softly, her breath barely audible. Not wanting to disturb her, knowing how lightly she slept, she made her way to her other daughter's room. Slipping silently into the pink paradise she smiled at the young girl, bedclothes all over the place. She was snoring slightly, arms and legs everywhere as her unruly curls crashed liked waves over the pillows. Erin pulled the blankets up over her, tucking them in once more. Wiping a singular curl from her face she placed a quick kiss on her cheek, the action causing her daughter to shuffle into a new position.

Finally she made her way to her son's room. Robert Junior was cocooned within his blankets so his face was the only thing she could see and that was barely visible. He was the polar opposite to his younger sister in every sense of the word. All three of her children were complete individuals; no-one could doubt that. She planted a kiss on his forehead and turned to leave. Making her way back downstairs Erin felt better with the knowledge that her family were safe and secure.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs she resolved that she would spend more quality time with her family, making sure they realised just how much they meant to her.


	2. JJ

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **Thank you for the support for the first chapter. The whole 'story' is written so I am hoping to post regularly. I wouldn't start posting this until it was complete as I have changed things so much as it has developed.**

 **This chapter is focused on JJ. Not my favourite character to write but hopefully it will work.**

 **. . .**

JJ opened the door to the nursery and stood, leaning against the frame. She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying desperately to gain some security from the feeling. As she stood alone she watched the rise and fall of her young son's breathing as he slept peacefully. _Oh to be so blissfully unaware._

But JJ was aware. She still struggled to comprehend what she would do if she had have been in Aaron's shoes. She knew the painful truth of what had happened to Haley. She had seen first-hand the impact on Jack Hotchner. Life was unfair and that had been made blatantly clear to her in over the last few days.

The Hotchners were a good family, not perfect, but who is?

Haley had stood by her decision to divorce Hotch. She had made the choice to go it alone. Until 'The Reaper' threatened them, Haley and Hotch had managed to find an amicable agreement and probably had got on the better then they had been when they were together. All of that had changed in a moment once Aaron had realised his family was under threat.

Aaron dedicated his life to trying to catch the monsters that roamed the real world. He ran a tight team and expected the best from those who worked with him. He was rarely disappointed. Yet right now JJ couldn't help but feel they had all failed him.

They had failed to help him protect Jack and Haley.

Putting them into protective custody had meant that poor Jack had missed out on so much with his father in order to protect them. Not that it had helped them in the end – even protective custody had not been enough to keep them safe.

JJ moved softly into the room, wanting to be close to her son. Pulling the chair closer she settled down, folding her arms and resting them on the side of the crib. Henry was smiling, obviously remembering something good from the day.

Today was one of a series of days that JJ wouldn't forget in a long time, but for all the wrong reasons. Closing her eyes she flinched as she remembered the sound of the shot over the airwaves.

Their job had never been an easy one but this was beyond anything she had ever experienced. Watching Jack try to stay strong in his father's shadow was heartbreaking. She wanted to pull him back into her arms and protect him from it all. Somehow take him away to place that all this had never happened. Where his Mom was there for him and everything was ok. Unfortunately that wasn't possible.

Reaching into the crib to stroke Henry's soft curly hair, JJ juddered as she remembered stroking Jack's hair when she had pulled young Jack into her arms to move him out of the house when they had arrived at the scene. Trying to keep the youngster calm, when all around him was chaos, had been hard. Using every inch of motherly instinct she had managed to hold it together until that moment he had looked up at her with those beautiful eyes, when he had asked in all innocents 'Where's Mommy?' Then JJ had near enough cracked. What was she supposed to say to him? She had momentarily considered the truth, but had no idea how Hotch had wanted to deal with this. Also she had no wish to be the one to tell him his mother was dead. Instead she had simply replied that she was still in the house with his Dad.

She remembered how he had seemed to accept this for a while. They had sat together, far enough away for the manic people processing the scene. The spot was secluded enough to not risk being caught on film by the couple of TV crews that had shown up for their pound of flesh. As Jack had talked to her about soccer it was obvious how he had grown in the time that he had been away. JJ had been glad to have this distraction; soccer was something she could talk about for hours on end.

She remembered how she had looked up and caught the sight of Hotch exiting the house and searching for them. Scooping Jack up she had taken Jack to his father, handing him over with a sympathetic look. Stepping back she had given them space.

Standing there in silence and watching a man that she admired struggled to maintain his stoic nature with all that he had just gone through – let alone what he had yet to come.

JJ screwed her eyes up in hope to hold back the tears as she focused on her son. The precious moments they had already had together had cemented her love for him - a love that had blossomed so naturally the moment that she had seen Henry for the first time.

Jumping slightly at the feel of a hand on shoulder, JJ looked up. Will stood there looking down at her. He didn't need to say a word. Instead he just dropped to her side and pulled her into a loving hug. JJ melted into his arms. Surrounded by her family she finally broke and let the tears trickle silently down her cheeks.

"Come on Babe," Will whispered, pulling her up from the chair. Together they left Henry to sleep peacefully.

JJ walked in silence with Will to the living room, wiping the tears on the back of her sleeve. She felt so childish and completely helpless. Will guided her to the couch and sat her down softly. Sitting with her he pulled her close, stroking her soft hair as her head rested on his now damp shoulder.

"I don't want . . . Henry . . . to ever go through . . . something like this."

"Shhh," Will soothed, knowing that he could make senseless promises, but the reality was that both of them were in the wrong career to be making those sorts of promises. "We will both do our best to protect Henry in any way that we can."

JJ nodded, sniffing through the last of the tears. "I love you," she whispered, "both of you mean so much to me."

"We know," Will smiled as they sat curled up together for the rest of the night.


	3. Penelope

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **Penelope is next up. Anyone that knows me knows I love Penelope and writing her. That said she was not as co-operative with this chapter I had hoped.**

 **. . .**

Penelope was snuggled deep within a bright and fluffy world that bore no resembled reality. There were various pink and purple soft creatures adoring her room as she snuggled under a faux fur blanket. She held close a fuzzy bunny, a box of tissues by her side. Most of the contents were now used and in or around the bin that sat on the floor by the couch. Pen continued to sniff as tears now trickled occasionally, escaping from under her sparkly glasses and tracing down her cheeks.

Not long after she got in Pen had given up and taken her make-up off. Only to stop another evening of mascara stained cheeks. Since she had listened to that final call between Haley and Hotch she hadn't been able to get the sound of the gun shot out of her head. The way it reverberated down the line still echoed around her mind. Closing her eyes she tried not to match up the images she had seen after with the sounds she had heard at the time.

Getting up she swapped the DVD, finding another rom-com she had watched a gazillion times to try and distract her until she was tired enough to sleep without thinking. Before she pressed play Pen headed to her kitchen. Opening the freezer door she grabbed the half eaten tub of ice-cream. Her pyjama clad butt bounced the door shut as she spun to open the drawer and grabbed a spoon. She knew it wasn't really the answer but right now it was satisfying none the less.

Returning to the comfort of her well loved couch, Pen sunk into its softness, settling once more below her fluffy blanket. Pressing play she skipped through the credits and straight in to the film. She pulled the blanket up under her chin, raising her knees up too as she opened the ice cream tub. Delving in to the left over cookie dough delight she focused fully on the sensation of eating and not on the constant repetition of the Haley's voice ringing through her mind. Hearing the final words of a dead woman was unnerving to say the least. Having to relive it all for the sake of the internal investigation had only compacted it all. In her mind there had been nothing to investigate. Aaron Hotchner had acted reasonably within the confounds of an unreasonable situation. Pen had never condoned violence but right now she whole heartedly support all The Bossman had done. Those top Honcho Busy Bodies seemed oblivious to all The Reaper had done.

Slipping further under the blanket, Pen settled down to watch Richard Gere do his thing yet again. She sighed deeply as she tried to let her mind be swept away by all the good fluffy stuff in her world.

Eventually she felt her eyes getting heavy as she dumped the empty ice cream carton in the bin. Briefly she considers getting up and heading for her bed, but that had caused more problems the night before. Even walking the short distance to her bedroom had been enough to wake her mind once more, leaving her to a night of staring at her ceiling. So instead she lets sleep claim her as she settled down on the couch for the night.

However her sleep wasn't restful; images from her own childhood mingle in with moments she has shared with Hotch and his family: the babe in his Mom's arms, that came to visit them to bring light to dark days in the office followed by her learning to ride her bike, this then blurred into a cheery toddler stumbling in Rossi's back yard chasing a disgruntled Mudgie, then back to her carefree teenage years. However things soon got darker as the pain hit, hard. Even in her sleep the torment would have been obvious to anyone unfortunate enough to see. Pen tossed and turned; legs and arms flying in all directions as she tried to physically fight off the nightmares. Her own grief was shadowed in the eyes of young Jack Hotchner. His pain compacted her own. She imagined his questions, the same things she had asked when her own parents had died.

Sitting bolt upright, woken by her own screams, cold sweat trickling down her back, her pulse racing as her breath laboured while she tried to deal with all her mind had just thrown at her.

On shaking legs she rose and made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her hand trembled as she turned on the faucet and filled a glass. Pen gulped down the cool liquid, hoping it would go some way towards calming her shattered nerves. She knew she couldn't go on like this. Slowly she trudged through to her bedroom. Flopping down on her soft bed she glanced at her radio clock 3:34. Maybe, just maybe, she could get a couple of hours quality sleep. Shutting her eyes she hoped.

. . .

Sunlight blared in through her open drapes, Pen scrunched her eyes closed, wishing she could have another few minutes of peace. She had managed some sleep and it had made her realise how much more she needed. Dragging her tired body out of bed she stretched as she made her way to the bathroom.

Striping off her pyjamas she followed her usual morning routine as she waited for the shower water to warm up. Once ready she stepped into the steaming cloud, disappearing instantly. She scrubbed and polished and literally tried to wash the nightmares out of her hair. The smell of zingy citrus fruit infusions filled her nostrils, waking her from within. Stepping out of the shower; a warm fluffy towel to hand, Pen felt better.

She dressed quickly, forgoing make-up as she had no intention of leaving the house. Not for some hours anyway. Fixing a pot of coffee she munched on items of fruit from the bowl on the counter top (it would counteract last night's ice-cream binge, surely?) while she waited for the brew.

Mug in hand she headed to her living room area. Taking hesitant sips she scanned the room and sighed. Since when had she been such a slob! Smiling she placed the mug down.

A good spring clean was the answer – hopefully more than just the answer to her messy apartment. From then she felt sure that a bit of baking would put everything back on track.

Today was a new day and she would channel her inner energy and move forward.


	4. Rossi

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **This chapter is focused on Rossi, a character who I love. As I am posting this on Halloween I hope you feel it is more of a treat then a trick. Happy Halloween all those who celebrate.**

 **. . .**

Sat in his office, Dave studied the half empty bottle of scotch that was perched on his desk. He held a glass containing a large slug of the amber liquid. Dave tipped the glass slowly back and forth, letting the liquid swirl in the rhythmic movement. His mind was not on the glass and its contents or the label of the bottle that he had absentmindedly read numerous times now.

Dave's head was still back in the sorry excuse of the interview they had all had to endure in the name of a ' _fair investigation_ into the _incident'_. Inside him his anger at the whole situation started to bubble once more. Aaron having to suffer the indignity of the process of events that had drawn this all to an 'official end' frustrated Dave once more. Though he knew that today was not the end of the story, just the end of the chapter. There would be more questions, more probing, to find out if Aaron was fit to return to work.

He had managed to maintain his cool in the stuffy room that had held the panel meeting in. Dave had come so close to telling them once more just where they could stick the BAU, but deep down he knew that would solve nothing. The problem wasn't the BAU, it definitely wasn't the team he worked with. They had won him over now. No Dave wanted to remain here, ready for Aaron, ready to help. Knowing when to get out was one thing – he wasn't ready for another exit, yet.

Taking a sobering sip of the rich peaty scotch Dave winced, knowing he had really had enough already but wasn't ready to stop yet. Was it physically possible to finish the bottle and still stand? He wasn't ready to head home either, not yet. Dave wanted to make sure every last member of the team was out of the building, he somehow felt it was his duty. They had dispersed once Hotch had left with little Jack but no-one had seemed to want to walk away. From his office he could see the bullpen was near enough empty now, the odd desk light warping the shadows that fell across the quiet room, the only buzz that of the cleaners going about their nightly business. He could make out Spencer Reid; head down at his desk, the last one still here. Maybe he should go down and hurry him home, but then maybe the young genius just needed to process this in his own way. Who was he to interrupt that and dictate what Reid should do? Dave decided to leave his colleague a while longer then go and check all was ok.

Dave knocked back the last of his drink and swiftly poured another. Sat alone like this he knew his temper was liable to reach boiling point once more - his annoyance at the system that had made Hotch the bad guy in all of this. Yet he couldn't walk away and clear his mind. Yes Aaron had been cleared and the investigation closed, but he shouldn't have been question in the first place. The man had been defending his son and himself - his actions perfectly understandable in this situation. The Reaper was a known serial killer who had set his mind on destroying Aaron Hotchner because Aaron wouldn't do as he wanted him to. It was never going to have a happy ending; just no-one had imagined this. Everything had been done to keep Haley and Jack safe, but everything was not enough.

From the minute they had realised what was going on the decisions had been hard. Go in to the apartment or hold back and watch? Head out together or send Aaron on ahead? Follow protocol or cut corners? Save a life or be too late?

That was their problem; all along they had been one step behind. Hell they been a whole mile behind and no ending sprint would have been enough. Nothing was enough. Dave drained the large shot he had poured, the fire of the amount he had swallowed in one go building in his gut, burning alongside his own fiery temper.

Slamming the glass down on the table he poured another. Reaching in to his desk he retrieved another glass, and added a generous amount. Picking them both up he headed towards the door. Sitting here was doing him no good. Making his way along the catwalk and down the steps to the main bullpen, he headed directly to Reid's desk. The young man was gathering his things, obviously readying to leave.

"You ok kid?" Dave said as he placed the glass on the table, perching on the edge next to it.

Spencer nodded, still filling his satchel.

"Sure?"

Another nod, but this time he looked up; "Are you? . . . ok, I mean?"

Dave gave and uncomfortable smile, he lifted his glass slightly; "Not yet, but I'm working on it if you know what I mean. . . Care to join me." He pushed the other glass towards the younger agent.

Spencer shook his head; "No thank you . . . painkillers for my knee." He gave an awkward shrug by way of an explanation.

Dave's eyes narrowed not sure that he was being told the whole truth, but accepting the reply. "Up to you. Heading home?"

Spencer nodded once more, "I've caught up with everything."

"Hey don't get defensive, most left a while ago."

"I know, I just . . . "

"Hey it's ok Kid, I understand, after all I'm here too. At least you are being constructive with your time."

Spencer struggled to standing, stiff from sitting so long. He pulled his bag over his head and steadied himself. "You're not staying much longer, are you?"

"No, I think I will follow your lead." Dave stood and watched his colleague leave before returning to his office. He finished his drink and the other that he had poured, before gathering up his own belongings. Organising a cab home he switched off his light and made his way through the building. Knowing that he would be returning to fight another day, this was not the day to leave.


	5. Reid

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **This chapter is a little different as it includes the contents of a letter to Reid** **'** **s Mom. It is events from Reid** **'** **s perspective. For this purpose I have used the belief I hold that Reid** **'** **s mum knew about his struggle with Dilaudid. Also just to clarify on the last chapter I very much doubt Reid would have had painkillers for his knee but I think it was a sort a blanket excuse he would have used to excuse himself from an uncomfortable situation – such as a late night chat with a tipsy Rossi.**

 **. . .**

Spencer sat down stiffly in the aged swivel chair at his antique desk. The desk was one of the few luxuries he had allowed himself. Yet nestled among his library of books it was the only piece of furniture that seemed fitting. The slightly battered piece matched the dogged eared and well loved volumes that filled the shelves of his study. Each book had long ago been memorised, but each had still been read many times.

Once settled, though in an incredible amount of discomfort, Spencer pulled a sheet of pristine white paper forwards ready to start his letter. Picking up his favoured pen, he was quick to scrawl his address and the date in the top corner before starting the main body of the note:

 _Hi Mom,_

 _It_ _'_ _s me, as usual._

 _Sorry I haven't written for a few days but recent days have been among the hardest days of my life, and as you know only too well, there have been many contenders for the title._

 _I don't know how to say this other than to be blunt. A killer we had been hunting for ages managed to track down Aaron Hotchner wife Haley and kill her._

 _Do you remember me telling you about how Haley and their son Jack went into hiding after Hotch was stabbed? It was because of this, monster – sorry to be so dramatic but I cannot call him a man._

 _Having never found a person to love the way Hotch had Haley, it is difficult to imagine his pain right now. Though it is blatantly obvious to anyone that a man I have always admired for his stoic ways is struggling. That alone, unfortunately, is something I can empathise with. Though that doesn_ _'_ _t mean I know what to do to help him. I want to be able to offer my support but feel all the more awkward about approaching him._

 _I am sure you would have some calm words of wisdom for me Mom, some reference that might help. But, how do you help someone who has always been there for you? Hotch has always been able to effortlessly support and encourage me. He has always found the right words or actions just when I have needed them. I wish I was able to return the favour right now._

 _Seeing Jack today was hard. He is so young and was so close to his mother. Even now I can_ _'_ _t imagine losing you, let alone how that would have felt as a child. You have always been willing to listen to me, no matter what sort of day you had. I hated burdening you with my problems, but learnt that together we could get through anything, eventually._

 _Haley and Jack had been through so much together. Haley was bringing Jack up alone and would have given them the same bound we share - something that he and Hotch will not naturally have, just like Dad and I._

 _I am not saying that Hotch abandoned Jack the way Dad left us. Hotch did, in the end, what he had to do to try and keep his family safe. Sending them away together and not contacting them so as not to give away their location. He didn_ _'_ _t walk away easily._

 _I hate to think how he must be feeling, having lost all that time with Jack and Haley in vain._

 _Mom, please help me to help a friend. What do I do in this situation?_

 _Your loving son,_

 _Spencer x_

Reading over the letter, Spencer was struck by the fact that even on paper his words didn't really reflect the situation. Frustrated that even in his favoured form of communication he was struggling to express how he felt. Folding the paper carefully and placing it in a stark white envelope, Spencer sealed it and addressed it. Finally he placed the letter down, leaving it on the centre of his desk ready to post in the morning.

Rubbing his sore leg, that had all but seized up since he had pushed on through the drama of the last few days, he looked around the shelves of books. Hoping to find some inspiration in their vast knowledge, Spencer continued to sit for a while. Squinting slightly as he tried to process the collection, searching his memory for which might make appropriate bedtime reading. Something had to help him to help Hotch.

Making the added effort needed to stand, Spencer pushed himself out of the chair and with a slight wobble made his way over to a volume that had caught his attention. Pulling the large leather bound book off the shelf he placed it on to his desk before returning to the shelves to collect various other additions that he felt may hold the secrets he was looking for.

Awkwardly he gathered up the four books that he felt were most appropriate. Hitching them up under one arm as he used his cane to help him hobble towards his bedroom. Deciding against a shower, instead favouring heading straight to bed. Slowly changing into a plain pair of PJs before returning to the kitchen to make himself a pot of coffee. It would keep him going while he read.

Back in his bedroom, Spencer lowered himself onto the bed, the pile of books ready and waiting for him. Picking up the first novel he was soon absorbed in the familiar words, turning page after page as he devoured the contents. Though nothing seemed to fit with what he was hoping for.

Yawning and stretching, Spencer reached for his first mug of coffee. He could feel a long night coming on as he was not willing to give in until he had an answer to his problem. Everything was solvable if you were willing to spend the time breaking it down. He was more than willing to do that.

Picking up the next text, he tried to settle in a more comfortable position, though not comfortable enough to make it easy to drop off to sleep. This time he had selected one of his college text. He remembered it having a detailed chapter on the grieving process and thought a refresher on this might be useful. It didn't tell him anything he didn't already know.

Struggling to keep going Spencer was quick to get another coffee out of the pot. Determined he would find a way to support Hotch and Jack.


	6. Emily

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **This chapter is focused on Emily. I have always loved writing Emily but actually found this chapter hard to prep for. Hope it works for you.**

 **. . .**

Emily sat in the near darkness, the few flickering candles giving the room a relaxing glow- though Emily was far from relaxed. Instead, yet again, she could feel the tension painfully across her shoulders and in a tight band around her head. She was still cross from today's interview and the sense that Strauss had been out to blame Hotch for all that had happened. This had been what _that woman_ had wanted for a long time. Maybe now she would be satisfied.

In front of her was a large glass of red wine. It was poured from the last bottle of the case her mother had given her at Christmas. It was a favoured Italian, full bodied and aromatic. She had been saving this bottle for a special time – though that moment had never come. Now she hoped she may hide in its contents. Praying silently that the taste and smell would flood her mind with the positive memories she had gained from revisiting such a beautiful country.

After all that was how she dealt with everything in life. Everything was filed away in her conscience. Some memories under lock and key never to been seen again. Others free to mask the moments when she struggled. Moments like today.

Yet the glass sat there, still untouched, the rest of the bottle open beside it. Not a drop drank as she hugged herself tight on her sleek white couch. Her slender arms wrapped around her legs that she had drawn up to her body. Her chin resting on her knees as her gaze settled on one of the dancing flames.

She needed to find a way to deal with all they had been through over the last few days. Finding something to help her collect it all up and bury it – making her strong enough to face the coming days in dignity. After all that is what the daughter of an ambassador does.

"Never let them see you cry," she could hear her mother's words echo through her head.

Lucky there was no-one there with her tonight. She had contemplated the need. Considered asking Spencer for a game of chess, but had decided it was best to find a way to cope alone. After all it was what she was used to.

So as the tears began to flow Emily let her emotions go. Giving herself permission to succumb to the outburst. Her body physical shook as she sobbed, the knees of her jeans absorbing the tears as they fell relentlessly. All this was masking her ability to process the cause of her grief. That alone was blocking her from filing it all away and moving on. It was rare that this happened. She could count the incidents when it had on one hand. Emily was use to moving on quickly – some called it a blessing other thought it made her hard and heartless. She called it survival in the jobs she had done over the years. You couldn't see the things she had seen, experience what she had experienced and still be here without one hell of a coping strategy.

Drawing in a deep breath, Emily rubbed at her eyes, trying desperately to push the remaining tears back where they had come from. She wanted to regain control and begin the process of gaining a perspective on all that had happened.

On a personal level she had not been close to Haley. Emily doubted anyone, other than Hotch, from the team ever had. Why would they be? Yet only the single most heartless person could not have been moved by the final exchange between Hotch and Haley. Hearing in her voice that she knew she was going to die. Emily closed her eyes, having been convinced before that she was in a situation she would not get out of, she could relate to Haley's fear. That was without the added burden of doing anything to protect your son from the madman that was threatening to kill him too. Emily shuddered at the thought of what could have happened.

Was it wrong to think that things could have been much worse?

A wry smile tugged at the corners of her damp lips, that was more like the thinking years of being an ambassador's daughter had installed in her.

It could have been worse. The Reaper could have found Jack. He could have killed him too. He could have over powered Hotch, he had done once before. They could have been mourning his death too – the death of a whole family. Instead they should be celebrating the strength and sacrifice of one woman. Haley - a mother, a lover and a friend. Who had done everything in her power to protect those who meant the most to her. Jack lived because of her. It was the only way to begin to process the whole ordeal.

And it was an ordeal. Since that very day it had been heartbreaking to watch Hotch come to terms with his loss as he struggled to gain control of his own emotions so that he could help Jack. He was a strong leader. A man she admired and respected. It was awful seeing him try to fight back from such a low. Emily had obviously joined all of her team in offering their support, being willing to do anything to help. Yet she knew she was on par with her colleagues in feeling helpless. What could they truly do?

Managing a definite wipe of her face, knowing that by now there would be a very undignified smear of mascara across her cheeks – her mother would not be pleased. Emily dried her face. No more tears would fall tonight.

Emily, finally reached forward, took the warm glass of red and drank slowly. The rich ruby liquid instantly mellowed her mood. She slid down a little into the comfort of the couch, her gaze once more settling on one of the dancing candle flames. Silently she raised her glass in a toast to Haley Hotchner – the brave, selfless woman whose son lives through her sacrifice.

A woman after her own heart.


	7. Morgan

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **This is Morgan's chapter. Again for a character I normally love written he was not co-operative in writing this – hope it comes across well in the final edit.**

 **. . .**

Derek scanned the scene. Standing on the spot and rotating round his eyes narrowed as he pictured what this mess was to become. Beneath all the dust and debris he could see the potential; it was what had drawn him to the property. This house had once been a home but for some unfortunate reason it had become run down and unkempt. Derek was enthusiastic to return it to its glory, but finishing his previous project had needed to take priority. Now he was free to start on this transformation.

Letting out a huge sigh Derek contemplated where he would start. He took pride in breathing life back into dilapidated properties but this could well be his biggest project to date; though no-one could ever accuse Derek of stepping away from a challenge he was starting to wonder if he had bitten off more than he could chew. However this was just what he needed right now, a channel for his energies and emotions. For once the timing was perfect.

Stepping up to the cracked wall, Derek checked once more that he was correct in his assessment. Running his hand over the rough plaster work and peeling wallpaper. Scanning and examining it he was certain, purely a partitioning wall and not anything structural. This was his starting point. Tearing down the unwanted wall, clearing the rubble and making way to start a fresh would be his therapy for today.

Swigging the last of his coffee down Derek threw the coffee shop disposable onto a nearby pile of rubbish and lifted the sledge hammer. His body barely registered the reverberations of the impact as the pre-existing cracks splintered outwards from the hammer head. Instantly he swung another blow, sensing the bricks begin to move he aimed again, hit after hit. His body absorbed the shockwaves as the wall gave way to his assault. Slowly bricks fell as he chipped away at it –determination driving him on. Aiming high, he worked solidly as the divide gave way to his efforts.

. . .

Leaning on the handle of the sledge hammer that was now planted firmly on the floor, Derek paused. Sweat soaked his grey t-shirt from the morning's hard work. He had needed to stop periodically to clear the way for the next level of falling rubble. This was the last of it. The wall was no more, but the mess was ten times worse.

Peeling off his t-shirt, Derek wiped himself down with the soggy fabric before searching round for another bottle of water. He ached, and that was putting it mildly. He was using combinations of muscles that no amount of pumping iron could prepare him for. Derek was well aware he would pay the price over the next few days, but it would be worth it in the long run.

Glugging the cool water down he found a spot to rest, building back up his energy ready to start the clear out of the piles of brick, plaster and associated debris. Immersed in the silence and stillness his mind soon began to wander, back to the images he was working hard to avoid. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to push them back to the depths. He didn't want to think about what had happened. That they had failed. That he had failed. They had all let Hotch down, in a way that could not be forgotten. Already Derek had repeatedly scolded himself for being too late. That he should have made a decision quicker. That he could have done things differently and this would have lead to the team getting there in time. It had been his call; he had been in charge and failed.

And that failure had caused Haley's death.

Shaking his head he tried not to think about seeing her body laying there. There was no way he would have even tried to stop Hotch from cradling her lifeless body in his arms. Stuff procedure – this had been all too real. It was pain at its rawest. Hell, he had pulled Hotch off of the Reaper, the man he had just killed with his bare hands. To be honest had Hotch not done it he, or one of the team, would have been quick to finish him. Derek believed strongly in the justice system, but cool rationality had all but left them when they had heard the gunshot. Focus had gone, yet senses had sharpened at the same time. Haley's death had spurred them all into overdrive.

They had failed to save her, they had to save Jack.

Letting out a huge sigh Derek reined his thoughts in. The small boy, had been wide eyed and fearful, confused by all the people suddenly invading his house. The home he had not been able to live in for months. Suddenly crawling with men and women in forensic suits, police with guns and of course the whole team looking like they had been to hell and back.

Derek knew life with only one parent, the highs and lows that it brought. He knew how it felt to have lost a parent at a young age, especially in such dramatic circumstances. The only saving grace was that Jack was spared witnessing the travesty. Even thirty years on he could remember the moment his Dad was shot as if it was only yesterday. The horror unfolding in front of his eyes now just as it had done then.

Drawing his hands down over his face, he rubbed his stubble, trying to focus back on the project in hand. He had hoped the hard work would help him to leave the whole incident behind him, but he should have known the only way through this was to process what had happened.

Pushing off the surface he leant against Derek finished the bottle of water and headed towards the pile of rubble, sitting about and thinking was not getting him anywhere. Grabbing a fresh t-shirt from his bag and a pair of gloves he soon got started with the next stage of the project, clearing space to make the improvements this place needed.


	8. Hotch

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **I need to start with a huge apology, I have had huge computer problems (as in now have new laptop!). I will reply to reviews as soon as I can.**

 **So finally to the main man himself, though this is not the final chapter; I have two more characters I wish to explore.**

 **Seeing Aaron portrayed as he was in the show for these episodes was pure genius and so moving. I hope I have done justice to him.**

 **. . .**

Stood in the doorway Aaron did everything he could to hold himself together. Today had physical and mentally drained the last of his reserve. Aaron knew that going through the arrangements for the funeral was just the beginning of the end of the chapter.

Looking at his slumbering son he resisted the urge to crawl into bed with the young boy and hold him as he had every night since . . .

Swallowing hard Aaron realised that he couldn't even think the words let alone say them. Tears welled in his eyes as his brain tried to make him accept the fact. Haley was dead! Yet each time he tried to deal with the truth it was like his lost her all over again. His body once more flooded with the same emotions that he had experienced that very day – the exhaustion, the adrenaline and the pain.

Feeling the nausea rise from the pit of his stomach, Aaron focused hard on his peaceful son, willing his body to regain its control, but failing.

Closing the door softly Aaron swiftly made his way to the bathroom, losing the little his stomach contained when he got there. Steadying himself against the cool tiled wall, as he tried to rid the light headed feeling the sickness and lack of food had cause, Aaron slid down into an undignified heap on the floor. His head in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees, here he slumped and weep.

Aaron had no idea how long he had been there, as time seemed to be a concept he had lost a grip off since the moment his phone had rung and he'd heard Haley's voice for the last time. Seconds, minutes, hours and days all blurred. Some moments whizzing by in a flash, others long out staying their welcome. This was one of those moments.

Aaron willed himself to get up and get a grip. He knew he had to be strong and carry on. Yet his body failed to react to any of the messages his mind was sending out. So here he sat, tears rolling down his cheeks, the cold sensation of the tiles seeping through the light fabric of his dress shirt. Images flooding his mind as he tried to hold on to something other than the hollow echo of a gun-shot ringing through his ears.

Closing his eyes he rested his head back, knowing that this pain could not last forever, even if now it seemed never ending.

Dragging himself up, Aaron stumbled through to his bedroom collapsing onto the bed. Screwing the bed clothes up in his arm and snuggling into the heap he tried hard to imagine he was not alone. That maybe, just maybe if he slept, he would wake in the morning to realise that this was all some sick nightmare dreamed up by and overactive imagination coupled with the knowledge of the inner workings of psychopaths. However deep in his heart he knew there would be no happy ending.

This altered reality was worse than anything he could have imagined.

Opening his eyes Aarons blurred vision settled on a photo by the bedside. The black and white image of Hayley and Jack had been taken on a rare family weekend away. The fall leaves were fresh on the ground and Jack's smile as he jumped in a large pile of them with his Mom was as broad as the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

Instantly Aaron scolded himself for working the hours he did and punishing his family the way he had. He allowed the blame to tumble down on top of him, crushing him under its weight.

All of this was his fault. He had caused all of this. He had made his son spend half his life so far without a father and the rest of it without a mother.

If he had only taken more time off, then they would have been a family. Hayley and Jack had needed him and instead he had been busy trying to change the world. He should have been a father first and FBI second. Hayley had tried to warn him, to reason with him, but he had accused her of being selfish.

If he had of left The Reaper alone then none of this would have happened. Haley would still be here. His son would not be crying himself to sleep each night having spent the days crashed out on the couch watching home videos of his time with his Mom.

The burden was too much and Aaron could feel himself cracking.

Rising from his bed there was only one place he wanted to be and one thing he wanted to do. Sneaking back along the corridor, he slightly opened Jack's door once more. Without a sound he crossed the small room. In one carefully perfected technique, one honed over the last few days, Aaron was curled in the same bed as his son. Tonight Aaron went to Jack instead of Jack coming to him.

Feeling the steady breathing of Jack, Aaron's own breaths soon evened out to match his son's; helping him feel a sense of peace that had been missing all day. Pulling Jack as close as was physically possible, Aaron held on as if his life depended on it. Right now it was plausible that it did.

Concentrating on the sensation of his son's warm body tight against him, Aaron felt his eyes fluttered shut as sleep finally found him. His muscles slackened but did not release as the darkness cocooned them both.

He needed Jack as much as Jack needed him.

Together they were a team.

Together they could face anything.

Together they stood a chance.


	9. Jack

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **Jack**

 **There was no way I could leave our young man out of this. Really struggled to write this – hope it works. Some of his 'thoughts' may seem a little 'mature' but I am a strong believer in many frustrations in little ones coming from not being able to communicate all that they can think and feel.**

 **. . .**

Jack's eyes glazed as he lost focus on the blurred images playing in front of him. He didn't need to see them to know what happened next. He had lost count of the time he had spent watching the same video clip but there was no way anyone was shifting him. He had to see her. He needed to see Mommy one more time.

"Mommy is in heaven now, she's watching you," they said.

"She still loves you, more than she could ever tell you," they said.

"Mommy will keep you safe," they said.

The tears that had blurred his vision started to plop down from his cheeks, hitting the couch once more.

Jack didn't care about heaven, if Mommy loved him she'd be here right now with him. She would hold him and stroke his hair telling him it was all ok. She would wipe away the tears and make everything all right again.

But she wasn't here.

Mommy had gone.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as Jack tried to hold in the sobs. Big boys don't cry – Billy Fitzgerald had told him that the last time he had fell over and scrapped his knee in the playground.

Jack swallowed hard, trying to watch the picture on the screen but the tears got in the way.

What did Billy know – big boys do cry, he'd seen Daddy cry since Mommy went. And Daddy was a superhero – he fought bad guys every day and won.

Cuddling himself tight he heard footsteps pad through behind him.

"Hey Buddy, you ok?"

Jack nodded, not sure that he could use his words to answer. He felt his Dad sit down beside him, his hand resting softly on his shoulder.

"It's ok to be sad Jack, I miss Mommy too."

He nodded once more as he sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Quickly he looked up to see his Dad's reaction.

"It's ok Jack, though I'll go grab some tissues in case we need them."

Jack turned to watch his father leave the room, keen to know where everyone was. He needed to know someone was there.

His Dad returned talking a seat next to him on the coach. Jack instantly snuggled into the strong arms that reached round him.

"Your Mom's smile could always make me smile."

Jack looked up at his Dad. "She would tickle me and call me Mr Grumpy-pants if I wasn't smiling. Mommy knew how to make me giggle. Mommy didn't stop until I was laughing lots." The tears started once more, tumbling down his cheeks as he spoke.

"Happiness was important to Mommy, it important to everyone, but Mommy wanted to make you happy. She had a way of making people around her smile. She would want us to be happy and remember the good bits."

Jack sobbed; "But . . . I'm . . . sad, Daddy. I . . . miss . . . Mommy. I want . . . her . . . back." Jack allowed himself to be scooped up in his father's arms and lifted on to his lap as the tears tumbled into full blown sobs.

"I'm sorry Jack. I wish I could . . ."

Holding his breath Jack listened for his father's next words, instead he hears the soft sobs that match his own. Snuggled into each other they cry, rivers of tears gushing down to puddle together as they draw strength and comfort from each other.

. . .

In the darkness Jack trembled, his mind was racing.

 _He was with his Mommy once more. They were playing soccer. She was in goal. He kicked._

His leg physically mirroring the actions in his dream _._

 _She moved to block but the ball bounced past her. Jack celebrated with a quick lap around the garden, cheering and laughing. He turned back to his Mom._

 _She was gone._

 _He looked around the secluded garden frantically. Where was she?_

' _Mommy!'_

 _He started to search, maybe she had decided to play hide and seek. That was it. Jack ran around looking in all the usual places. His initial giggles turning in to frantic cries as he failed to find her again and again and again, she wasn't there._

"MOMMY!"

Jack sat bolt upright, he was sweaty and cold at the same time. He looked around the dark unfamiliar room. Before he could figure out where he was the door flung open. Jack rubbed his tired eyes as he looked back up at the figure that entered his room.

"Daddy," the word stumbled out, a sleepy mess.

"Hey Buddy," Jack allowed himself to be swept up into his father's strong arms. "Bad dream?"

Jack pulled himself closer to his father, resting his head on his Dad's shoulder. He shook his head. "Not bad, it had Mommy in it," he whispered.

"Oh, what was she doing?"

"Playing soccer, Mommy's good at soccer. But she went away."

Jack snuggled in as he was squeezed a little tighter. Feeling his lip tremble he asked;

"Where'd Mommy gone?"

Tears fell as he knew the answer that was coming, but hoping that Daddy would say something different tonight. That she wasn't . . .

"Shush," Jack felt the reassuring rock of his and his father's body together. "Mommy is watching us from heaven. She is seeing what a brave boy you are."

Jack felt a wet splash against his cheek, not one of his tears but that of his father's.

"She loves you so much Jack. She always did and always will."

Grabbing the fabric of his father's shirt he scrunched the material tight.

"Don't go Daddy."

Feeling the shift of his body as his Dad moved, Jack felt himself be laid down once more. He felt the reassuring feeling of his father lay down beside him and the gentle touch of the fingers running through his hair. Suddenly his eyes felt heavy. Sleep.

"I'm not going anywhere Jack."


	10. Jessica

**Aftermath**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **So I am finishing with my biggest risk chapter (yes someone had guessed/hoped I would include this).**

 **Jessica.**

 **I have never written her but feel it is only appropriate to see her point of view. This is the final chapter. I hope you have enjoyed this – it was originally a one-shot but has become two years of much more.**

 **. . .**

The simple wooden photo frame trembled in her hands as she sat starting at the grainy image from their childhood. Her mouth was a soft smile as tears streaked her bare cheeks. Bittersweet memories filled her mind. Her sister, the one person that had always been there, now gone.

In the photo they were both preteens, playing happily together, as they always did. They had been that rare set of siblings that had few quarrels, well at least when they were little. As adults they had the occasional cross word, but usually one of them was quick to see the other was making sense.

Jessica wiped the heal of her free hand across her face trying to banish the tears, but she had been strong for others too long. This was her time, her moment. A chance for her to sit down and mourn the loss of her sister . . . her best friend . . . her confidant . . . her everything.

The tears started once more, flowing freely this time. Curling her legs up under her, Jessica reached for the photo album she had previously placed on the coffee table. Beside it a half empty glass of white wine, no longer chilled. It made her realise how long she had been sat there staring at the collection of framed photos that now rested on the couch beside her.

Lifting the heavy book onto her lap, Jessica started to turn the pages - looking at the collection of memories. Years of photos she had collated of their time together. She had started with photos from her first camera. Holiday snaps taken by one or the other of them, some had them both in. Various places that they had been with their family over the years - theme parks, camping, hiking, visits to family far and wide. Their parents had encouraged a sense of adventure. They had wanted them to learn and explore their surroundings. Thanks to their parents Jessica had a wealth of childhood memories – the laughter they had shared, the discoveries they had made.

As one page blurred into another her tears continued to roll down. Childhood images slipped into teenage shenanigans. Images of summer camps and house parties. Jessica cringed at their so called fashion sense – the flared denim of the 70s morphed into the neon 80s. It had been a cruel assault on fashion, but given them many a laugh when they had looked back on the times together. Frizzy hair and Fame branded clothes, at the time they had been so impressed with the looks they had spent time creating. Oh how wrong they were.

She had to laugh at shots from each of their own 21st Birthday parties - the moment they had proudly reached adulthood. Before this Aaron had started to appear alongside Haley in picture after picture. Those two had been inseparable. Yet they still had so much time for each other, sisters against the world.

Photos of first cars mixed with college images, moving to graduations and first days at work. Dates and girls nights out, the two of they had always stuck together – no matter what.

Jessica paused, her eyes locked on the photos from Haley's bachelorette party. Happy smiles radiated back at her. The boy she had met at school had been about to become the man she was to marry. That night they had laughed, they had cried, they had drank and danced.

Turning the pages she was faced with images from the wedding itself, a happy day for Haley and Aaron. It had been a small simple ceremony - few on Aaron's side, slightly more on Haley's. Jessica had been right there beside her, supporting her sister. Her deep purple dress matching the bows on the chairs as the two had sworn solemnly on their life and love together.

Jessica slammed the book shut, her shoulders shaking as her silent tears turned to body wreaking sobs. How could such a happy day lead to such misery. Haley had loved Aaron, no-one could ever doubt that, and Jessica truly believed that Aaron had adored her sister. But somehow Aaron joining the FBI had rotted that love and admiration. Slowly bit by bit.

Jessica had watched as the happy couple had moved through life together, Haley fully supporting Aaron's decision. They were like that supporting each other. Initially it hadn't seemed too bad, the additional hours and such. However the BAU had changed all of that.

The birth of Jack had been a hopeful changing point, but somehow it seemed to make Aaron more driven. He was determined to make the world a safe place for his son – something that was impossible. Jessica made sure she was there, right by her sister when she needed her; helping her with the day to day things that Aaron was not there for.

She had stood by Haley as she had summoned up the courage to divorce Aaron. She had seen the misery it had caused everyone involved. This was compacted by Haley and Jack needing to go into hiding. It had been all Jessica could do to stop their father hunting Aaron down himself and finishing him off for 'The Reaper'. Maybe if he had . . .

The tears had stopped, no more left, but now she felt sick. It had been so long since she had seen Haley and Jack. She had accepted their separation on the understanding that it was temporary, that one day they would be together again.

But now she knew they wouldn't.

Inside Jessica desperately wanted to be angry, to shout and threaten all sorts like her father. She wished she could blame Aaron, hate him for causing this. She needed to grieve but in her own way. The only way she knew how.

She needed to be a close to Haley as she could.

She needed to be near Jack.

Pushing away the album, Jessica left the photos behind and made her way up to bed, promising that she would be there for Jack, and Aaron, no matter what. After all it would have been what Haley wanted.

. . .

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.

 **Washington Irving, author**


End file.
